


Fast Away The Old Year Passes

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-02
Updated: 2008-01-02
Packaged: 2018-08-16 07:43:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8093806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: The New Year's Eve Party on board Enterprise is coming to an end; some have liked it more than others...





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

â€œHappy New Year!â€

By now Trip was slurring the words. He wasnâ€™t smashed â€“ that was for people like Rostov and MÃ¼ller, though, to their credit, they were hiding it well. But it couldnâ€™t be argued that he felt comfortably relaxed, and so did his enunciation.

It was three in the morning, and the Mess Hall was finally beginning to empty. People were filing out, smiles on their faces, cheeks more or less flushed, some hiding yawns. This was a starship, and sooner or later all of them had a shift to work, so for some it was time to call it a day. Or a morning. Whatever.

â€œAll those with a headache or an upset stomach follow me,â€ Phlox called blithely, headed for sickbay. Not many had the courage to openly declare their tipsiness, but a few did.

â€œNice speech, Captâ€™n,â€ Trip said, grinning, as they waited for the turbo lift. â€œDonâ€™t know how you do it, but you always find somethinâ€™ meaningful to say.â€

â€œItâ€™s because Iâ€™m a profound man,â€ Archer said with one of his funny faces. He entered the lift and turned. â€œNight, Trip.â€ He pushed the button, the doors closed, and he disappeared.

Grin still plastered in place, Trip turned to walk on to his quarters.

â€œStill able to stand upright, Commander?â€ a distinct and slightly mocking voice said behind him.

Trip shot a glance over his shoulder. â€œHow about you, Lieutenant?â€ He waited till Malcolm had caught up with him. He knew the man wasnâ€™t too fond of parties and celebrations, and he was pleasantly surprised with the light tone. Maybe these couple of years on board Enterprise had chipped his solid armour a little.

â€œAh, well, if truth be told I was fine until I downed a glass of that new liquor we picked up on the last planet we visited,â€ Malcolm said. â€œItâ€™s making me see two of everything. But I canâ€™t let a glass of booze defeat me. I have a reputation to defend.â€

They shared an easy chuckle and walked on, shoulder to shoulder.

â€œSo, did you have fun?â€ Trip ventured to ask, as they came to Malcolmâ€™s quarters.

â€œFun?â€

Wrong question.

â€œFun is a quiet evening with a good book.â€ Malcolm replied wryly. He triggered the door open and turned to him. â€œOr a good friend. All that noise and fuss is entirely unnecessary.â€

Something about him had suddenly, if subtly, changed. The voice, his expression, or maybeâ€¦ the eyes. Yes, the grey eyes had gone deep.

â€œAnyway. Good night,â€ Malcolm said, his mouth twitching into a failed smile.

â€œIâ€™m not likely to sleep for a while,â€ Trip blurted out, making a fast decision. He hoped his slight intoxication would help him be a good liar. â€œYa know, itâ€™s like after a workout; too highly-strung.â€ He shrugged nonchalantly. â€œMind if I come in for a few moments?â€

Malcolm narrowed his eyes, studying him for a second as if to assess his good faith, or his intentions; then swept a hand. â€œAfter you, Commander.â€ A moment later, taking off his jumper, he threw it on the bed and unbuttoned the top of his shirt. â€œIâ€™d offer you a beer,â€ he said, â€œBut I think weâ€™d better not do any more damage.â€

â€œAgreed,â€ Trip replied deadpan. â€œAs it is, I think Iâ€™ll have to take Phlox up on his invitation, sooner or later.â€

â€œBloody possible.â€

Trip sat down on the desk chair and watched Malcolm kick off his shoes and drop on the bed, getting into a cross-legged position, back against the wall. The man deflated in contentment, as if a heavy burden had been finally lifted off his shoulders.

â€œWas it so bad?â€ Trip asked tongue-in-cheek.

Malcolm darted him a look and considered the question.

Of course. Now that the two of them were alone, the man wasnâ€™t going to carry on saying platitudes. Those were for the crowded party, where real emotions had no room to surface. And then it struck him: that was probably one of the reasons why Malcolm didnâ€™t like parties.

â€œItâ€™s no secret that Iâ€™m no lover of parties,â€ Malcolm said quietly after a moment, as if he had read Tripâ€™s mind. â€œBut New Yearâ€™s Eve is definitely quite low on my list.â€ His brow creased slightly. â€œIâ€™ve never felt comfortable leaving the old for the new; the known for the unknown.â€

Trip bit his lip. â€œThe Armoury Officerâ€™s cautious approach to the New Year?â€

It was a comment, more than a question. Indeed, Malcolm didnâ€™t deign to give it reply.

â€œWeâ€™re supposed to be explorers,â€ Trip went on. â€œI for one feel kind of excited when somethinâ€™ new begins.â€

â€œThere is that, yes. But itâ€™s an excitement that carries with it a dose of unease.â€ Malcolm heaved a pensive sigh. â€œLike when youâ€™re starting on a new path and you canâ€™t clearly see whatâ€™s ahead.â€™â€

Strange, how different people could be â€“ Trip mused. â€œThatâ€™s exactly what would whet my appetite,â€ he said aloud, with a chuckle.

â€œYours and the Captainâ€™s,â€ was the immediate, dark comment. Shooting him a long-suffering look, Malcolm went on, â€œDonâ€™t I know. Good thing we have a Vulcan Second Officer who helps me rein in your reckless enthusiasm.â€

â€œAh, thatâ€™s unfair,â€ Trip complained in mock outrage. But his attempt at fun fell short. Malcolm had evidently had enough of jokes and laughter for one night.

â€œAnd then thereâ€™s the fact that on New Yearâ€™s Eve you tend to take stock,â€ the man said, drawing his knees up. â€œTo ask yourself how well, or badly, you fared during the year thatâ€™s dying.â€

â€œDying? Why notâ€¦ retiring?â€

Malcolm tilted his head in that curious way of his, eyes averted in thought. â€œNo, it definitely dies,â€ he eventually said, without a trace of doubt, steady grey gaze now boring into him. â€œOnce we decide itâ€™s gone, itâ€™s over.â€

Trip twiddled with a pencil on Malcolmâ€™s desk. Its tip, unlike his brain at the moment, was quite sharp. Thoughts were a confused jumble in his mind, one on top of the other. He wondered what Malcolm was doing with an old-fashioned pencil as he tried to remember if he had ever taken stock on New Yearâ€™s Eve.

â€œThe time lapse is over,â€ Malcolm expounded, getting his attention back. â€œThe specific number of days and hours conventionally designated by a four-digit date. Impressions, memories live on, of course.â€ He gave a soft huff of a laugh. â€œI wouldnâ€™t want them to vanish, like the ticking seconds. At least not all of them.â€

One thing was slowly becoming clear. At each yearly appointment with Time, Malcolm seemed to be projected in the past, while he, Trip, was projected towards the future.

â€œSo,â€ he said softly, for he wasnâ€™t sure he had a right to ask. â€œWhatâ€™s the result of your survey? How have you fared, this past year?â€

Malcolm seemed reluctant to answer. â€œI tend to be quite strict with myself,â€ he finally said, evasively, but at the same time rather eloquently.

In the past year Malcolm had had some tough moments. Heâ€™d been speared to the hull by that mine; almost hanged with the Captain after losing his communicator; had been taken over â€“ like himself â€“ by incorporeal aliens; and had had to fight off cybernetic ones. Not that the year had been a walk for himself. Trip had almost been burnt alive on that moon with that hostile alien; almost met an untimely death again on that prisoner transport; and, especially, he had touched the lowest point in his career when he had caused the suicide of that cogenitor. He still felt his heart heavy when he thought of it, and probably always would.

â€œWell, Iâ€™d rather concentrate on the future,â€ Trip blurted out. Archerâ€™s lashing words, after theyâ€™d learnt of the cogenitorâ€™s death, still echoed in his mind, tore at his conscience. â€œItâ€™s pointless to cry over spilt milk.â€

No, not pointless â€“ he secretly amended. Painful. Trip knew that he must be wearing his heart on his sleeve; heâ€™d never been good at hiding his emotions. But Malcolm, sensitive as always, fell silent, giving him time to recover.

â€œItâ€™s important to stop and think, instead,â€ the man eventually offered, in a quiet but self-assured voice. â€œThe future has no meaning, without the past. Indeed, the past can make our future better. Or worse, if we choose not to take it into account.â€

Trip looked up into the grey eyes. The light was dim, and he couldnâ€™t quite read them. As if the dim light were the only reason â€“ he mused sarcastically. Malcolm could be one of the most secretive persons heâ€™d ever met. Save for letting you in, when he chose, to his rich inner world. Like now.

The digit on Malcolmâ€™s alarm clock flicked to show O-four-hundred. They really ought to catch some shuteye. But Trip was reluctant to break this comfortable mood. He was glad he had followed the spur of the moment and asked Malcolm to let him come in. Heâ€™d done it for his friend, for he had sensed the man could use some quiet company. Now, after ending one year in cheerful revelling, he was discovering how good it felt to be starting the next one in meaningful conversation. Trip had also never met anyone who, like Malcolm, could bring out a part of himself he almost didnâ€™t know. His poised self.

â€œYa know,â€ he drawled. â€œHere in space I find that everythinâ€™ is a bit different.â€

â€œWhat do you mean?â€ Malcolm asked.

â€œSpace is so vast and dark that... you lose your bearings, sort of. Take the notion of time, for example.â€ Trip shifted in his chair. â€œWe virtually need to look at the clock to know if itâ€™s day or night. So even the passinâ€™ of the months and the cominâ€™ of a new year feelsâ€¦ different, more artificial, out here.â€

Malcolm shrugged. â€œItâ€™s always felt like that to me. Time is a continuum. It cannot really be divided into watertight compartments. Thatâ€™s why I donâ€™t see the point of getting so excited on New Yearâ€™s Eve. Itâ€™s silly.â€

â€œAll right, it is,â€ Trip agreed with a smile. â€œBut what the heck: nothinâ€™ wrong with silly, once in a while.â€

He watched Malcolm roll his eyes while hiding a yawn behind a hand. Suddenly he was aware of his own tiredness. â€œWhat time does your shift start?â€ he enquired, pushing to his feet. They shouldnâ€™t forget that they had a ship to run.

â€œToo early,â€ Malcolm groaned.

They walked to the door.

â€œWere you really so highly-strung that you couldnâ€™t sleep, Commander?â€ Malcolm quietly asked when they got there, darting him a knowing look.

Trip, bit his lower lip. â€œDamn it, am I so obvious?â€

He watched a full smile blossom on Malcolmâ€™s face. â€œThanks,â€ the man simply said, a moment later, as he triggered the door open.

Trip stepped out into a dimmed and quiet corridor. Celebrations over, only the background and â€“ to his ear â€“ comforting rumble of a well-oiled warp engine could be heard. He turned to his friend, who was leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest, dark circles of tiredness under his eyes.

â€œAny New Yearâ€™s resolutions? Trip asked, giving in to another spur of the moment.

Wrong question number two. Malcolm looked at him straight-faced.

â€œStop tasting liquors from alien planets,â€ was the deadpan reply.

â€œAh.â€ Trip raised his eyebrows. â€œHeadache, huh?â€

â€œNo, itâ€™s that one Chief Engineer is quite enough, thank you.â€ A wry smile took the sting out of the words.

Trip rolled his eyes. â€œI oughtta have known. Tough luck,â€ he teased. Innocently, he added, â€œNight, Lieutenant.â€

â€œGood night, Commander.â€

Trip started to walk away.

â€œWhatâ€™s yours?â€ Malcolmâ€™s voice called after him.

Trip turned.

â€œNew Yearâ€™s resolution.â€

Studying for a moment the face of his friend, Trip tried to understand how serious the question was. But of course Malcolm had put on his impenetrable look â€œFind a way to deceive a certain Lieutenant,â€ he quipped.

â€œNot a chance,â€ Malcolm said, with a challenging grin.

Trip started to walk again, backwards. â€œWeâ€™ll talk about it next New Yearâ€™s Eve. Ya know, when we take stock.â€

â€œIs that a deal, Commander?â€

Malcolm was still leaning on his door frame, legs crossed, arms crossed, but more relaxed that Trip had seen him in the whole evening. Trip smiled.

â€œItâ€™s a deal.â€

THE END


End file.
